King of the Wind by Marguerite Henry Read Free Book Online

will give it to no one but Monsieur le duc or His Majesty the King.” The groom tiptoed around the gentle-man-of-the-wigs and brought his face close to the Duke’s. “Methought you’d like to know,” he whispered, “that I have the King’s horse in readiness. In a moment he leaves for the chase. But, my lord,” the groom’s face broke into a sly smile, “methought you would like to come to the stable and read the letter first.”
    Monsieur le duc patted the groom’s shoulder with a jeweled hand. Then, upsetting a powder table in his haste, he snatched up his plumed hat and hurried to the stables with the groom running bow-legged behind him.
    As Mulai Ismael’s letter was being put into the Duke’s hands, King Louis XV, followed by twenty courtiers, walked into the royal stable. A great stillness seemed to come in with them. The only sound in that vast high-ceilinged building was made by Sham swishing a fly from his hip.
    The young King stopped stock still. He seemed transfixed by the pitiful gathering before him. Slowly, looking from one to the other, he studied the six stallions and the lead horse of Signor Achmet. They were carefully groomed, but so bony that each rib showed. And beside each stallion stood a thin, ragged horseboy, holding his charge on a lead rope.
    The King was about the same age as the horseboys, but there the likeness stopped. He wore high polished boots and golden spurs, and his breeches and coat were of velvet. The horseboys were barelegged, and the insides of their legs were covered with blue-green welts made by their stirrup straps on the long overland ride. And their bodies were wrapped in coarse, hooded cloaks.



Agba was glad of the hood. It was like the protective shell of a turtle. He could see out, yet he felt that no one could see him. Had he only known, the darkness of his hood made glowing embers of his eyes.
    Monsieur le duc cleared his throat. He bowed low. “Your Majesty,” he sniveled, “may find this letter interesting. I know not what it says.”
    Louis XV looked past the Duke as if he did not exist.
    “Read it to me,” he said absently, without taking his eyes from the horses or the boys.
    “It bears the seal of Mulai Ismael,” the Duke said as he untied the silken cord and broke the red seal. His tongue passed rapidly over the complimentary phrases at the beginning. Then he read more slowly.
    “ ‘The bearer of this letter is come with six Arabian stallions as a gift to Your Majesty. These Sons of the Desert are strong and fleet. . .’ ”
    Here the Duke burst out laughing. “Really, Your Majesty, this is very amusing. The Sultan refers to these bags of bones as ‘strong and fleet and of purest Eastern blood.’ Pardon me, Your Majesty, but it is enough to make me die of laughter.”
    At the sound of his hollow laughter all the horses laced their ears back.
    The King’s face clouded. “Read on,” he said.
    “Very well. ‘They are descended from mares that once belonged to Mohammed.’ ” Now the Duke’s voice was full of mockery and scorn. “ ‘From henceforward,’ the letter reads, ‘you may use them to sire a better race of horses among you. They will strengthen and improve your breed.’ ”
    The King’s groom brought forward his mount. The horse was a big gelding, nearly twice the size of the Arabians. From his superior height, he looked down on the six stallions and let out a shrill whinny.
    The Duke shrieked with laughter. “See there, Your Majesty! Even your own horse is laughing. I trust you will send these old sand sifters back to the desert where they belong. The bony broomtails!”
    Agba’s fists clenched. He could not understand a word of this foreign tongue, but he knew that the man was laughing at Sham and the other horses. His burning eyes sought the King’s. He longed to tell him that the horses were gaunt only because of the terrible journey, and that soon they would be sleek and beautiful again. He longed to tell him